


Summer Meeting

by rosemaryandrue (Rosie_Rues)



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Cooper
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Rues/pseuds/rosemaryandrue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a summer's day, Stephen Stanton and his baby brother meet an archaeologist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gramarye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gramarye/gifts).



"Steve!" Gwen called, voice sharp and irritated. "_Stephen!_"

Stephen, who had doing his best to escape the clutches of the rest of his family, bit back a groan. A family outing to some old ruin was not his idea of a good way to spend an August day. Give him a fishing rod or his bike and the company of some friends, anything except squabbling kids and bawling babies and pretending to be interested in some bit of ruin just because Max was going through a history phase.

"What do you want?" he called back, without turning to look at her. At least the view was good, the river winding its way out of the town and the hills beyond, green and rolling, guarding the valleys below.

The sound of bawling baby came closer and Gwen said, "Mum's having a nightmare with the kids. Take the baby so I can help her out."

Stephen groaned, but he'd been an older brother for fourteen of his fifteen years, so he took Will. "What's wrong with him?"

"Don't know," Gwen said, backing away rapidly. "He's been fed and changed. Maybe he'll stop crying for you. You're his _favourite_."

Maybe he shouldn't have rubbed that in so much over the last few months. Sighing, he jogged Will in his arms and wandered over towards the edge of the ruins. Maybe some shade would help. As he got nearer to the towering side-wall of the old abbey, he heard voices raised in amiable argument.

Will's howling was dying down to hiccups, so Stephen wandered over to have a look. A ditch had been dug down to foundation level and two men were standing in the bottom. Both were wearing khaki hats and short-sleeved shirts. One was round and sweat-sheened, already burnt red. He was gesticulating wildly as he said, "That's the problem with you Arthurian types, Lyon. You see mysteries where there are none. Fifth-century, yes, I'll give you that, but there's nothing, _nothing_ to suggest the site played any role in any native resistance. You've come all this way for nothing."

"The pursuit of knowledge is never nothing," the other man said. He was tall, with a shock of white hair sprouting from under his cap, and wise eyes in his dark face. "Don't discount the importance of a good mystery, Jenkins."

Will chose that moment to let out a loud burp, and both men looked up, though Stephen couldn't help feeling that the older man had known they were there all along.

"Sorry," he said politely. "I didn't mean to interrupt your work."

"Not at all," Jenkins said. "Always good to see some fresh faces. Know anything about the fifth century, young 'un?"

"I'm afraid not," Stephen said.

"The age of Arthur?" the other man said, eyes glinting.

"Oh, yes," Stephen said, with a vague idea of knights in shining armour and magical quests.

Jenkins groaned. "Indoctrinating the young, Lyon?"

"Not the Arthur of story," Lyon said, eyes intent. "The true Arthur. The man who stood on an island besieged on every side, and held firm against the darkness. A warrior in the Roman style, in a land torn apart by strife and distrust, who built a light which blazes down the ages."

"I didn't know that," Stephen said. "Wasn't round here, though, was he?"

"Thank you," Jenkins said, pointing at Lyon. "Thank you, young man. No record of Arthurian legends in this region, Lyon!"

"Not yet, at least," Lyon said mildly. "Want to see a bit of genuine fifth-century wall?"

Something in the passion he'd spoken with had sparked Stephen's interest, but he held up Will. "Don't want to drop my brother."

"Pass him down," Jenkins said cheerfully. "And I'll teach you some real history rather than these fairytales."

Stephen passed the baby to Lyon and scrambled down the ladder to join them. Will had stopped crying now.

"Got a name, youngster?" Jenkins asked, crouching down to point at the base of the exposed wall. "See that there, where the colour of the wall changes. Fire, in the sixth century."

"Stephen Stanton," he said, squatting down beside him.

"Stanton," Lyon said behind him, something strange in his voice. "And your brother?"

"Will," Stephen said.

Lyon was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Well met, Will Stanton."

Stephen glanced back up at them to see Lyon looking down at his brother, his hawk-like face caught in a strange emotion, as if he was torn between exultation and sorrow. Will was staring back at him, all sobs stopped, in that intense way he had which was more like an old man than a six-month old baby. His eyes were very wide and grave. Then, with a little chuckle, he smiled up at Lyon, and reached out to bat at his nose.

"Well met, indeed," Lyon said.

Later, Stephen rejoined his family, filled with a sudden enthusiasm for ancient history. His family were highly amused.

"Going to be an archaeologist now, are you?" Max teased. "History professor?"

"Not me," said Stephen, who had decided years ago that he was for the sea. "Maybe young Will here. He was happier when we were nosing about the past than he has been all afternoon."

"Our Will digging up old bones and grubbing through the past," Gwen said, laughing. "Poor little baby."

And they drove home, through the summer evening, with the light lingering longest on the tops of the hills.


End file.
